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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=374491" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Sonnet XXXVII</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=374491" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">WHat guyle is this, that those her golden tresses,<br>She doth attyre vnder a net of gold:<br>and with sly skill so cunningly them dresses,<br>that which is gold or heare, may scarse be told?<br>Is it that mens frayle eyes, which gaze too bold,<br>she may entangle in that golden snare:<br>and being caught may craftily enfold,<br>theyr weaker harts, which are not wel aware?<br>Take heed therefore, myne eyes, how ye doe stare<br>henceforth too rashly on that guilefull net,<br>in which is euer ye entrapped are,<br>out of her bands ye by no meanes shall get.<br>Fondnesse it were for any being free,<br>to couet fetters, though they golden bee.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Edmund+Spenser">Edmund Spenser</a></strong></div>

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